
Class. 
Book. 



1M3 






GopyiightIJi 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT; 



Nature Lovers' Poems 



By 
Amos K. Mehl 

u 




I9I7 

Fort Wayne 
Indiana 



December, 1917 



4^ 



"^ 



i? 



c^ 



^o ^ 



3 



.^ 



^^ 



Copyrighted 1917 by 
Amos K. Mehl 
All Rights Reserved 



DEC 22 19!7 



€)CI.A481081 



To 

Elsie M. and J. Wayne 

My Children 



ILLUSTRATIONS 



Nature's Child - - Frontispiece 

The Dawn 14 

OldBaldy 23 

Solitude 38 

The Mountain Stream - - 49 

The Grand Old Woods - - - 61 

The City 73 

Sunset ------- 84 

The Surf 93 

The Vanishing Race - - - 104 

Autumn ------ 114 



CONTENTS 



Page 

Introduction ----- 9 

When Hearts Forget - - - 11 

April Showers ----- 13 

There Is No Death - - - - 14 

The Vanity of Wealth - - - 16 

The Passing Veterans - - - 18 

Meditations Upon a Skull - - 20 

Charming Days - - - - , - 21 

San Gabriel ----- 23 

An Evening Revery - - - - 25 

To An Ideal Woman - - - 26 

A Summer Shower - - - - 28 

October Leaves - - - - 31 

The Lonesome Pine - - - - 32 

The Guard at Lindenwood - - 34 

God's Trail - 36 

The Mountain Lake - - - 38 

True Happiness ----- 40 

The Melancholy Crane - - 42 

Winter Woods 46 

A Dream of Spring _ _ _ 47 

A Few More Days - - - - 48 

The Stream 49 

To My Baby Boy - - - - 51 

Nature Sleeps _ _ - - 53 

The Quiet Hour 55 

Three Roses ----- 57 

Far From the City - - - - 59 

The Woods 61 

The Boy That Once Was I - - 63 



Valediction ----- 65 

When Leaves Lie Low - - - 67 

A Dream at Twilight - - - 69 

Indian Summer - - - - - 71 

I Want to Go Back - - - 73 

Eternal Peace ----- 75 

When Autumn Calls - - - 77 

The River 79 

Time's Prisoner _ - - - 81 

November Days ----- 83 

Sunset Beyond the Lake - - 84 

The Conflict 86 

My Friend 88 

When the Sun Goes Down - - 91 

Song of the Sea - - - - 93 

Life 94 

Night in the Woods - - - 96 

My Desire 97 

The Chrysalis 99 

On New Year's Eve - - - - 101 

I Love the Trail - - - - 102 

The Vanishing Race - - - - 104 

Nocturne - - _ - - 107 

By Fancy Painted - - - - 108 

The Passing of Winter - - - 110 

When Twilight Comes - - - 111 

Days of Youth 112 

Autumn ------ 114 

I Dream of You - - - - 116 

Sadly I Ponder 117 

Prairie Lands ----- 118 

When Life is Done - - - - 120 



INTRODUCTION 



Every lover of the out-of-doors is con- 
scious of the feeling of companionship in 
the open. Is there any finer companion- 
ship in life than that of the beech, the oak, 
the maple and their fellow trees — any 
sweeter breath in life than that of new 
mown grass or any milder melody than 
that of the singing pines? When we have 
lost these friends for a time — perhaps 
after months of life in the city — we know 
what restorers of life they are. We taste 
the full joys of their companionship when, 
after long absence, we return to Nature 
and renew our allegiance to the growing 
things of the earth. 

The city is a most lonely place; one 
may travel for hours and not see a famil- 
iar face, while in the woods or in the fields, 
by the river, on the steep mountain-side 
or by the ever restless sea, there are always 
faces, bright eyes, laughing voices and 
friends. 

The voices of the trees and the grass 
like that of old time friends, are filled with 
echoes of the past. They stir our hearts 




Page Nine 



with memories of years of fresh, dewy 
mornings in the springtime of life, when 
our spirits soared to the sky with the 
lark; of summer moons when, resting on 
the fragrant soil, we listened to the gentle 
voices of the night and dreamed the long, 
long dreams of youth. Byron well ex- 
presses the idea thus: 

There is a pleasure in tlie pathless woods, 
There is a rapture on the lonely shore, 
There is a society where none intrudes 
By the deep sea, and music in its roar, 
I love not man the less but Nature more. 

Amidst the crash and chaos of the 
temples man has reared the purposes of 
God move on, and nature, His great 
handiwork is undisturbed by the puny 
struggles of the human race. Men may 
come and go, kings hold the scepter and 
depart, armies fight and pass to dust, 
nations rise and fall, but Nature — the 
work of God remains. 

Let him whose faith is shaken by the 

greed and selfishness of men, seek the 

solace of Nature, for there, before the works 

of God, he will see things truly. He who 

loves Nature is near God. 

A. K. M. 




Page Ten 



WHEN HEARTS FORGET 



When hearts forget and silver threads 

Commingle with the brown or gold, 
When we no more may lightly tread 

The path of youth we did of old, 
'Tis not familiar sight or sound 

That makes us most to memory yield, 
But rather some rare scent re-found. 

Of Autumn fires in fen or field. 

*Tis not some song or sweet refrain, 

Nor whisper of the winds that pass 
That start the idle tears again. 

But rather scent of burning grass 
Along some lonely country road; 

'Tis this that takes us back again 
To when we knew not of the load 

Of weary cares and mental strain. 

Old loves, old days, come back again, 

And echoes of the past float down 
The long, long way, until we fain 

Would dwell beyond the lights of town; 
Dwell where the vine clings to the wall, 

And silent shadows come and go, 
Where oft we heard the plaintive call 

Of cooing dove when sun went low. 




Page Eleven 



These ope the gates to Yesterday, 

But Time bids we may only look 
Where Memory points far down the way, 

To cottage home in shady nook. 
Where spreads a glory over all, 

That wealth and fashion can not show. 
From whence we often hear the call 

Of Youth, but know we cannot go. 





Page Twelve 



APRIL SHOWERS 



The dainty buds are swelling, 
While whisp'ring winds are telling 
Of mystic life low dwelling 

Where wait the lovely flowers. 
The grasses too are sleeping 
Safe in the warm earth's keeping, 
But soon they will come peeping, 

Lured forth by April showers. 

O, welcome, April showers, 
That bring the dainty flowers. 
And weave the leafy bowers 

Where nesting birds are calling. 
A few more days to follow, 
Then we shall see the swallow 
Skim over hill and hollow. 

From dawn to twilight's falling. 

The merry brook comes bending 
Around the rocks, descending 
Until it finds its ending 

Within the rushing river. 
We love the wood's wild chorus, 
When April skies hang o'er us, 
And sunshine spreads before us 

And praise the Bounteous Giver. 




Page Thirteen 



THERE IS NO DEATH 



Long ages gone some mighty power 
Uplieaved the Rockies and Cascades, 

Raised high Gibraltar's beacon tower, 
And Hudson's rock-ribbed Palisades; 

Such mighty forces active then, 

Nor touched by greatest skill of men. 

Reveal to those who care to see. 

The language of all history, 

"There is a God." 

'Tis near the hour of midnight gloom, 

A hurricane sweeps o'er the sea. 
No moon, nor stars the sky illume. 
The night is dark as dark can be. 
The angry waves leap mountain high, 
Make compact with the angry sky, 
The thunder-peals roll loud and long, 
'Till echoes sound the crags along, 
''There is a God." 

With fearful plunge the rushing tide 

Leaps down to awful depths below, 
Where dreadful chasms open wide 
Receiving there the endless flow. 
The echo of the water's fall 
Reverberates from wall to wall. 
Proclaiming to the passing throng 
That moves in wonderment along, 
"There is a God." 




Page Fourteen 



■ m 



o-B- 

i: 



1 


§ 


f 


e 


1 


Br 


3 


B- 


E* 


n 


rt 




P> 


a. 


? 


4 




In silences of midnight hour, 

When all the world is slumbering, 
And twinkling stars adorn God's bower. 

Stars far bej^ond our numbering, 
I stand upon the river's brink, 
And in amazement gaze and think 
Of all the truth that's written there. 
The touch of mystery everywhere, 
"There is a God." 

The morning breeze sings soft and low, 

A strain made of celestial parts. 
And wafts Creation's poem, though 

'Tis heard by only listening hearts. 
Each dawn unfurls another day 
And drives the rolling mists away. 
Each rising sun brings life and light, 
And whispers to departing night, 
"There is no death." 





Page Fifteen 



THE VANITY OF WEALTH 



On yonder hill the rich man lives, 

Nearby the ocean wave; 
To needy poor he never gives, 

No want he tries to save. 
He builds his castle where he wills, 

Beside some babbling brook, 
Or on the sloping side of hill. 

Or some secluded nook. 

His gilded dome reflects the light 

Of sun or moon or star, 
To seaward he commands a sight 

Of trackless ocean far; 
Far as the human eye can see 

The billows onward roll, 
Across the wild and stormy sea 

Just like his restless soul. 

His faithful servants live below 

In hut or humble cot, 
At his command they come and go, 

To toil, is their lot. 
They know no joys, but weary, wan, 

They only know to wait 
Until the great eternal dawn. 

When wide will swing the gate. 




Page Sixteen 



Those castle gates may bar the poor, 

And guard the rich man's gold, 
But they will never be secure 

Against a phantom old 
That any day or night may call 

And bid him ope the door, 
And then to follow, leaving all, 

To hence return no more. 





Page Seoenteen 



THE PASSING VETERANS 



Some fifty years have drifted by 
Since shrilly whistled shot and shell, 

When fearless men marched forth to die, 
On field of foe, where thousands fell. 

Full long and wild the conflict raged. 
The Nation's heart was stirred with awe 

While in the deadly strife engaged 
To save our country and its law. 

Where swept the surge of human tide, 
In answer to the country's call. 

They marched and fought and bravely 
died 
'Neath shadows hanging like a pall. 

Then came the dawn of brighter day. 
When silent was the bugle's call. 

When war clouds lifting, rolled away. 
And peace again reigned over all. 

And as the surge of time rolls on. 
They still keep falling, one by one, 

Cares laid aside, they soon are gone. 
Life's battle fought, the vict'ry won. 




Page Eighteen 



Now few of them are left, and they 
Soon all will sleep beneath the sod, 

Will follow on where leads the way 
To everlasting peace and God. 

Pay tribute, then, where tribute's due, 
To heroes brave who've gone before, 

And the surviving veterans few, 

Who soon will cross to that far shore. 





Page Nineteen 



MEDITATIONS UPON A SKULL 



What high reflections once took place 
Within the shadow of this space? 
What thoughts have had their origin 
This dusky hollow room within? 

Was it a master or a sage, 

A noted ruler of the age? 

Were they vast musings multiplied, 

That wisdom scattered far and wide? 

Have they swayed empire or swayed state, 

And sat in council with the great, 

Or only ruled a modest home 

In cottage near the ocean's foam? 

Many sights and visions fair, 
Have flashed upon the mirrors there, 
Of mountains high or prairies wide, 
Of rosy tints at eventide. 

O, the dreams that were that wandered 

here 
Of youth and home and maiden dear, 
Of moonlight strolls among the trees. 
And music of the rustling leaves! 




Page Twenty 



CHARMING DAYS 



Springtime has its mellow days, 

Its swiftly flowing streams 
That rush adown the winding ways, 

Where bright the sunshine gleams; 
Its rains come gently down. 
On fields and hillside brown, 

Yet frost may chill 

While bluebirds trill, 
Some days be dark, and frown. 

Summer brings its golden haze. 

Its flowers sweet and fair, 
Strewn all along the wooded ways, 

In rich profusion there: 
And fields of waving grain 
Spread o'er a wide domain. 

And the sun beats down 

On field and town 
Till Autumn comes again. 

Autumn has its yellow corn. 

Its dim blue hazy hills, 
It has its fair September morn. 

That rare perfume distills 
From fallen Autumn leaves; 
Then dim October weaves 

Its haze of blue 

Till frost and dew 
Make keen and cool the eves. 




Page TtOenty-One 



Winter robes the earth in snow, 

Sometimes a silver thaw 
Will in the glinting sunlight glow 

And thrill our souls with awe, 
Then storms again rage wild, 
Where once the sunshine smiled, 

And clouds hang low 

Above the snow 
That on the ground is piled. 

Indian Summer days excel 

All others of the year. 
Hazy hills — I love them well — 

And meadows brown and sere, 
The mellow days like Spring, 
A few birds lingering; 

Rich painted woods. 

Sweet solitudes, 
And all the charms they bring. 





Page Tvoenty-Two 




The glinting sunrays low descend 
And crown Old Baldy's snowy crest. 



SAN GABRIEL 



I love the evening twlight clear, 

The fading of departing day, 
When bars of mellow light appear 

Beyond the hilltops far away — 
When length'ning shadows slowly creep 

O'er quiet ranch and orange trees, 
When stars o'erhead wake up from sleep, 

And softly comes the evening breeze. 

Alone I sit and silent dream, 

Beneath the giant redwood tree, 
I ponder things of life that seem. 

And weight the cares of life that be. 
Beneath the emerald drapery 

There breaks upon my silent mood, 
A note fine spun with witchery — 

The throstle piping to her brood. 

As thus I dreaming sit and bend 

To catch the music of my guest, 
The glinting sunrays low descend 

And crown Old Baldy's snowy crest; 
My drooping eyelids slowly close 

The windows of my weary soul. 
And peace enfolds me, brings repose, 

Until I glimpse the higher goal. 




Page Ttoenty-Three 



Far down below a valley fine 

Stretches away beyond the view, 
Orchard and flowers, and bright sunshine, 

Beneath a cloudless Southern blue — 
San Gabriel rises, spreading far 

Out to the swinging, sweeping tide, 
The sunset gates seem held ajar 

As tribute to San Gabriel's pride. 





Page Ttoenty-Four 



AN EVENING REVERY 



I hear a robin singing 
Where silent waters flow, 

On topmost twig he's swinging 
Against the sunset's glow. 

The violets are blooming, 

In spots of purple hue, 
Beneath the trees uplooming 

Toward heaven's sapphire blue. 

A gentle breeze is blowing, 

As soft as velvet down, 
And rose-hued clouds are glowing 

Where late the sun went down. 

I sit and dream and ponder, 
While shadows longer grow. 

Yes, dreaming sit and wonder 
What lies beyond the glow! 

I sense a rare perfuming 
Flung on the evening air 

From nearby tree that's blooming 
Like blushing maiden fair. 

I hear an echo drifting 
From far-off days of yore. 

As memory's veil is lifting 
From time that is no more. 




Page Ttoerdy'Fite 



TO AN IDEAL WOMAN 



There's a matchless beauty in sweet- 
scented June, 
When the rose bush bends with its 
burden low, 
And the mellow light of the silvery moon 
Comes softly stealing to earth below. 

There is beauty in Nature, yes, every- 
where. 
But of all this splendor nothing vies. 
With thy innocent smile, and the sunny 
air 
Playing about thy lovely eyes. 

There's a melody sung by the sounding 
sea, 
And the tremulous wind as it moans 
and sighs 
Through the rustling leaves of some lonely 
tree. 
Or the pattering rain when daylight 
dies. 

A marvelous blend of music I hear, 
But none is so rich and tuneful to me 

As the sound that falls on my listening ear 
Of kind words said by the voice of thee. 




Page Twenty-Six 



There's beauty of form and there's maj- 
esty 
In the bow of promise and twinkling 
star, 
In the eternal swell of the heaving sea, 
And the dome of heaven, deep blue and 
far. 

There's dainty form in each flake of snow, 
But no shape of earth is in such beauty 
dressed 

As that which Nature has made us know 
By her rarest art in thy form expressed. 

Thy faultless beauty, the light of thy face, 
Thy low kind words and the voice of 
thee. 

Thy nature serene and womanly grace, 
Are the light and the hope of eternity. 





Page^Twenty-Seoen 



A SUMMER SHOWER 



The noonday sun beats fiercely down 

Upon the meadow, field and fen, 
The butterfly flits lightly by, 

Gath'ring nectar down the glen; 
O'er meadow sweet and clover field, 

Wander and drone the bumblebees, 
The birds seek shelter from the heat, 

Among the leaves of shady trees. 

All earth a solemn silence holds, 

Scarce stirs a blade of corn or cane, 
Nor trembling leaf nor bough of tree; 

The billows of the fields of grain 
Have ceased to roll, have gone to sleep. 

The mirrored lake reflects the trees, 
And moves not pebble on the beach, 

The wind and waves are both at ease. 

Low in the west a cloud appears. 

Near the horizon it's afloat. 
Springs up a gentle western breeze, 

A whisper from the winds remote. 
Clouds, sentinel-like, go scudding by. 

Now darker ones enveil the sun, 
With swifter pace they sail above, 

While deeper shadows onward come. 




Page Twenty-Eight 



Hunters survey the heavens above, 

Then shelter seek at cabin door, 
Fisherman view askance the clouds. 

And turn their prows to leeward shore; 
The birds retreat among the trees 

To 'scape the wind and coming rain. 
And restless cattle wander near 

The low gate of the long green lane. 

A mighty rush and roar of wind 

Is moving swiftly on ahead, 
A flash, a crash, a deaf 'ning sound, 

Adown the oak the lightning's sped. 
Flaming swords cleave darkness through, 

Heaven's artillery thundering roars, 
Dark clouds hide the peerless blue. 

And on the earth a deluge pours. 

Now gentle rain comes pattering down. 

And faster comes, and faster still. 
Comes slanting through the leafy trees 

And beating on the fields and hill. 
Gleams the lightning's vivid flash. 

Darting here, there, everywhere, 
Reverberating thunder peal 

Follows the wonderous flame-like glare. 




Page Twenty-Nine 



Again the rain is past and gone, 

Unfurls the west a banner blue, 
While sun in silver puddles shines, 

And all the earth again is new. 
On yonder passing cloud appears 

Elusive bow of promise fair, 
The storm is fast receding east. 

Leaving a cool breath everywhere. 

The sun has passed beyond the hills. 

The shades of night are coming on, 
The radiant bow has vanished quite. 

With setting sun it now has gone. 
The lightning plays midst cloudy peaks, 

Far to the north, southwest and lee, 
Flashing among the misty crags 

Like signals sent far out at sea. 




Page Thirty 



OCTOBER LEAVES 



See yonder sea of color gleaming, 
A dazzling sweep of forest beaming, 
A painted tapestry of wood 
Proclaiming Nature's ardent mood. 

A vast expanse of red and gold, 
A wealth of riches to behold, 
A grandeur of funereal thrall 
That Autumn on the pyre lets fall. 

Each branch and twig of bright attire, 
Adds to the hilltops' crimson fire, 
The sunshine streams in yellow tide 
Through Autumn leaves and branches 
wide. 

The wind folds down to whisper dreams, 
And hardly stirs the little streams, 
The sky o'erhead of sapphire blue 
Holds light of rarest gem-like hue. 

This picture rare each year is hung, 
'Gainst rare, rich mantle Autumn-flung; 
It tells of life and death once more. 
Of death in life, of harvests o'er. 




Page Thirty-One 



THE LONESOME PINE 



Why stand you alone 
Against the sky line, 

Far up on yon height, 
O brave, lonesome pine. 

Your foothold the rocks, 
Where firmly you cling. 

Defying the storms 

From Autumn to Spring. 

How often you've fought 
The wind and the snow, 

While others were safe 
In valley below. 

You sing and you sigh, 
But not to be heard. 

For no one is near. 
Not even a bird. 

You rant and you rave 
At the tempest at night; 

When Winter winds come 
With furies you fight. 




Page Thirty-Two 



The first in the morn 
To welcome the sun, 

The last to behold it 
When daylight is done. 

Sing on, lonesome pine, 
Though no one be near, 

Thy song is not vain. 
The muses will hear! 





Page Thirty-Three 



THE GUARD AT LINDENWOOD 



The old elm sentinel-like has stood 
Long guarding the gates of Lindenwood, 
Saying to all who venture near: 
"All are equal who pass in here. 

"No rank nor class of any grade, 
Can pass beneath my solemn shade; 
The rich and poor who here go by 
All, all are equal where they lie. 

"Winds from the South will softly call, 
Spreading a carpet green o'er all, 
But as they pass they murmur low: 
'All are equal who sleep below.' 

"June flowers bloom for all the same, 
Be they lowly or had they fame, 
And softly breathes each tender leaf: 
'All are equal who sleep beneath.' 

"Then comes the dismal Autumn rain. 
Beating its sad and low refrain: 
'The proud lie low, their race is run, 
All men are equal 'neath God's sun.' 




Page Thirty-Four 



"Winter comes with snow and sleet, 
Spreading its great white winding sheet, 
And passes on with mournful sigh: 
*I cover them all, the low and the high.* 

"Great marble shafts may pierce the sky 
Near where the unmarked lowly lie, 
The elements sing on and say: 
'All, all are equal, these but clay.' " 





Page Thirty-Five 



GOD'S TRAIL 



God's pathway, see, 
Out on the deep, 

Where the wild waves 
Eternally sweep. 

Deep in the woods 

Silence is awe, 
Nothing but God's 

Immutable law. 

A melody, hark! 

Up in the hills, 
'Tis but His voice 

There in the rills. 

Flowers and grass 
Come at His call, 

When He commands 
Death reaps them all. 

The strongest oak 
Snaps like a reed. 

When 'tis assailed 
By hurricane's speed. 




Page Thirty-Six 



The gleam of His sword 
Cleaving the sky, 

Illumines the way 
When he rides by. 

Splendor we see 
Where'er we go, 

In Summer flowers, 
In beautiful snow. 

A planet He flings 

Into space far, 
Changes it then 

To twinkling star. 

Over the earth. 

Far into space. 
His plainly marked 

Trail we can trace. 




Page Thirty-Seoen 



THE MOUNTAIN LAKE 



Far up among the pine-clad hills, 

Beyond the haunts of men, 
Where evermore the sparkling rills 

Come rushing down the glen, 
A lonely lake lies dreaming on. 

Serene beneath the sun, 
Or cloudy sky, from early dawn 

Until the day is done. 

In bold relief against the sky 

Loom spirits of the height. 
Whose noble peaks point heaven high, 

Where eagles wing their flight. 
The pine-clad hills reposing nigh. 

Are mirrored in the lake, 
Where crystal waters gleaming lie 

Within the circling brake. 

The snow white lilies seem to sleep 

Upon the silvery sheen. 
Where only gnomes their vigil keep, 

Where man has seldom been. 
No boat has ever cut the sand 

Beneath o'erhanging trees. 
Where wavelets lap the lonely strand, 

When touched by stealthy breeze. 




Page Thirty-Eight 



^> 



3 3 



3- — 



5- 
era 




An almost prayerful silence blends 

With whispers near the spot, 
And woodland solitude extends 

Where ages are forgot. 
The shady, wooded aisles are mute 

And silent everywhere, 
Save as they touch the poet's lute 

To play a plaintive air. 

When soft light from the moon so fair, 

And quick winds stir the lake, 
A thousand eyes are watching there 

To keep the woods awake. 
When both the stars and moon are gone, 

And clouds blot out the light, 
The lonely lake lies dreaming on 

Through shadows of the night. 





Page Thirty-Nine 



TRUE HAPPINESS 



If you would find true happiness 
Seek for it not in gilded halls 

Amid the scenes of worldliness, 

Go, rather, where the wild bird calls 

You, down along the forest aisles 

Where Nature on you kindly smiles. 

Look for it on some eminence 
Out by the ever restless sea, 

There find abundant recompense. 
For all that's been and is to be; 

Go where the foaming billows roar 

Unceasingly along the shore. 

And you may find it on the plains, 
The treeless, rolling plains of old. 

Whose passing mem'ry still remains 
A joy more treasured than pure gold; 

The same breeze there forever flows, 

The same sky often turns to rose. 

Forget the strife and eager rush. 
The avarice for gold or gain, 

Where men each other seek to crush 
For riches that are all in vain; 

Dream rather of the country-side, 

Far from the rush of human tide. 




Page Forty 



What need you care if markets rise 
Or fall, and other things go wrong, 

To you belong the peerless skies. 

The breezes, and the birds' sweet song; 

Contented be in life's short span 

And pity have for poor Rich Man. 

The world has other wealth than gold, 
Abundant wealth that all may share, 

Vast treasures never bought nor sold. 
Though freely scattered everywhere; 

Accept them, and to your surprise. 

You'll find this world a Paradise. 





Page Forty-One 



THE MELANCHOLY CRANE 



Down where the snowy lilies hide 

Upon the slowly creeping stream, 
Where mirrored waters gently glide, 

And suiting well the recluse's dream, 
Like some fixed statue there he stood, 

In dreary wilderness alone, 
No friends had he in marsh or wood. 

Where oft he heard the sad winds moan. 

Sometimes a purple, shaggy sky 

Would blot the friendly heavens out, 
And gusts of angry winds come by 

As if to put the fowl to rout. 
When dismal rains in torrents fell 

And nights were dark as ebony, 
Full dreary then that lonely dell, 

Where once he lived in ecstasy. 

When softer winds and sunshine came, 

Like sifted swansdown, idly by, 
When sunset skies were all aflame. 

He still would only sadly sigh; 
For what to him the fading sun 

Beneath a glorious crimson sky. 
When one day more its course had run, 

And shades of night were drawing nigh. 




Page Forty-Two 



Some years gone by his faithful mate 

Had sacrificed her loyal life, 
And since that time he'd come to hate 

Man, who's forever seeking strife. 
Some wretch, with murder in his eye. 

That he might prate about his skill, 
Ordained that she must that day die 

To satisfy his ruthless will. 

When calmly sailing through the air, 

Above the world and wild morass. 
He merely seemed a spectre there, 

Like cloud-cast shadow on the grass. 
As shifts the sun from shade to light, 

Then swings again to darker shade, 
So swung he in his solemn flight. 

Above the world, adown the glade. 

The noisy blackbirds flew round him. 

When passing to the farther shore, 
A kingfisher, on a blasted limb. 

Was scolding him forevermore. 
Like haunted spirits, swallow flew 

About him, circling where he stood. 
Then sailed far upward, through the blue, 

Away beyond the marshfand wood. 




Page Forty-Three 



Way down where shining minnows gleam, 

And water bugs their trac'ry spin, 
Upon the slowly moving stream, 

Far from the city's clamorous din, 
Where gay and gaudy butterflies, 

Above the sun-flecked waters roam 
And lightly float, for years gone by. 

The lonely heron made his home. 

The snowy lilies hardly stirred 

Or rocked beneath o'er-hanging trees, 
Scarce moved a turtle when the bird 

Came dropping down with quiet ease 
Through leafy tree-tops standing near 

His home, upon that lonely shore; 
All there was silent, gloomy, drear. 

Harsh and wilderness, nothing more. 

When Autumn winds came down the lake, 

Another huntsman came that way, 
With caution he crept through the brake, 

Bent on the harmless crane to slay. 
The bird spread wide his wings and rose 

Above the reeds. A puff of blue. 
His peaceful life came to a close, 

There near the only home he knew. 




Page Forty-Four 



O'er all that wide expanse of grass, 

A death-like silence reigns supreme, 
Now winds and sun and shadows pass, 

Just like a dream o'er marsh and stream. 
No more will know the lonely lake 

(Where wildness only hence shall reign) 
The haunting spirit of the brake, 

The blue form of the lonely crane. 





Page Forty-Five 



WINTER WOODS 



The forest trees are bare and brown, 
With here and there a clinging leaf, 

The tiger-lilies bend them down, 
With violets they've come to grief; 

The promise and anemone 

Are dreams of summers yet to be. 

Below the shield of ice and snow 
The little brook still rushes on. 

Though cold the water there below, 
It sings of sunny days now gone. 

It murmurs a soft melody 

As on it hurries to the sea. 

The slanting light comes sifting through 
The interlacing branches high, 

A scream, a gleam, a streak of blue, 
A scolding jay-bird flashes by; 

The saucy red-wing's flaming flight 

Flares just above the carpet white. 

There's beauty in the winter woods. 
And music in the lilt of streams, 

Though Nature shows her wilder moods, 
And land is traced in icy dreams. 

There's beauty when the skies are gray, 

As well as any other day. 




Ptige Forty-Six 



A DREAM OF SPRING 



My thoughts are of the Spring, 
When rain comes dashing down 
Against my window pane, 
As musing there I gaze upon 
The slanting, driving floods 
That come in gusts, then pass 
On down, across the field beyond. 
The sun bursts through a silver cloud 
And lights my heart to dreaming of 
The myriad unborn tender flowers 
In wood-lot and in verdant fleld, 
And down along the winding brook, 
I dream of scented lilac sprays, 
And apple blossoms gladdening 
Some sunny hillside by the way, 
Where swallows swiftly glide 
Like spirits through the air. 
Across the field I seem to hear 
The piping of a quail. 
His prophecies of rain. 
My vision paints a gorgeous scene 
Of emerald against the blue, 
A landscape stretching far 
To meet the bending sky; 
Behold, the Spring has come! 




Page Forty-Seoen 



A FEW MORE DAYS 



O see yon sea of glory gleaming 
Through veil of hazy atmosphere, 

And listen to the saucy screaming 
Of that braggart jaybird near. 

The other birds have now forsaken 
Nesting haunts and Southward gone, 

At mystic warning all have taken 
Wing before the early dawn. 

Comes again the silent reaper, 
Harvesting the woodland gold. 

The flaming red of vine and creeper, 
Changing them to dust and mould. 

And lazy rivers now are creeping 
Without singing down the vales. 

And weary winds seem almost sleeping, 
Soon to wake to wilder gales. 

The hazy heavens o'er us bending, 

Solemn, silent and serene. 
Make us think the sky's descending 

Low to blend with Summer's green. 

A few more days of golden glory 
Ere the darker shadows fall, 

A few more days ere Winter hoary 
Spreads his mantle over all. 




Page Forty-Eight 




HAMMER PLATE 

The Mountain Stream 



THE STREAM 



Sparkling and clear the mountain stream 
Leaps down to the pool where shadows 

dream, 
Then hurries onward and down the steep, 
O'er stony beds, through gorges deep. 

It lends the power that drives the wheel 
Of the iron horse and the spinner's reel, 
Its slender threads give power and might, 
And turn the darkness into light. 

Slipping from toil in silv'ry sheen, 
Through forest keeps and meadows green, 
It slowly creeps then spreads more wide 
To blend at last with the ocean tide. 



The Stream of Life leaps wide and free, 
Through dreamy youth, through child- 
hood's glee. 
Then hurries on to sterner life, 
Down rugged gorge of toil and strife. 

It bears us on past worldly gain. 
Past honors void and glories vain; 
Norjwealth nor gold nor song nor rhyme 
Can|stay the onward rush of time. 




Page Forty-Nine 



When comes life's eve and calm repose, 
The placid stream still onward flows, 
Until through age we dimly see 
A glimmer of Eternity. 





Page Fifty 



TO MY BABY BOY 



Dewitt, my darling baby boy, 

Has brought with him a world of joy, 

His laughing eyes of heaven's blue 

He stole from skies as he came through. 

The love-light gleaming in his eyes, 

Is starlight mixed with sweet surprise. 

Such dreamy wisdom finds home there, 

His smile makes all the world more fair. 

His rosy lips like cherries are, 

Slipped from some sacred garden far. 

A dimple in his chin we trace, 

Close by the smiling kissing place. 

His lily fingers, wee pink hands. 

No flowers rival from far lands. 

So fragile, yet such perfect art. 

To fill completely one fond heart! 

Such chubby, tiny little feet, 

Rose petals could not be more sweet. 

Such little way from life's great door. 

Just on the threshold where once more 

The journey starts, as oft before. 

The way must lead through hopes and 

fears ; 
What toll will take the passing years? 
Now lying in my arms so sweet. 
He only thinks he'll go to sleep. 




Page Fifty-One 



Closed flower eyelids, down he goes, 
See! lie is hushed in sweet repose, 
My arms close folding him tonight 
We rest content in soft firelight. 
Tell me my baby, drowsy eyes, 
What dream see you beyond the skies? 
What do you find in that fair clime, 
In dreamland, O, sweet boy of mine? 
The eyelids softly flutter, then 
He sails in Dreamland's boat again. 
I lay him gently down to sleep. 
And know that angels vigil keep. 





Page Fifty-Two 



NATURE SLEEPS 



Fierce and wild come Winter storms, 

And gone are Autumn rains, 
The frost engraves fantastic forms 

Upon my window panes; 
Clouds spread a great white winding-sheet 

Upon the world below. 
And piercing winds drive through the 
street 

The fleecy flakes of snow. 

The trees are bare, the leaves lie low 

To shield the flowers fair, 
The blossoms sleep beneath the snow, 

Close-covered everywhere; 
The pond and lake are frozen o'er. 

Unseen the river's flow, 
No wavelets play along the shore. 

They're sleeping down below. 

To sunny lands the birds have flown. 

Their nests are full of snow, 
Their songs hushed in oblivion. 

And only caws the crow; 
The squirrel has sought his Winter home 

Within the hollow tree, 
The honey bee clings to the comb, 

A drowsy refugee. 




Page Fifty-Three 



Beyond the clouds the sun yet shines 

From skies of peerless blue, 
There is an end to all snow lines, 

Though sometimes hid from view; 
Beneath the ice the river creeps, 

And shifts the shining sand. 
The heart of Nature silence keeps 

Beneath the snowy land. 





Page Fifty-Four 



THE QUIET HOUR 



Down by the babbling brook, 
Beyond the haunts of men, 

I found a shady nook, 
Within a peaceful glen. 

'Twas in the pensive wood. 
Among the stately trees, 

Where in the solitude 
My spirit was at ease. 

The flowerets smiled on me 
By millions, many more 

Beyond those I could see 
Had greeted me before. 

A little bird came by 
And bade me linger long. 

That it might satisfy 

Me with its blithesome song. 

The trees told all they knew 
Of secrets where they stood 

The long, long ages through 
In peaceful brotherhood. 




Page Fifty-Five 



Not once they frowned on me, 
But with a friendly smile 

They let me plainly see 

To stay would be worth while. 

A fragrant breeze came by, 

From out the South somewhere, 

And whispered with a sigh, 
"The world is very fair." 

When souls of men grow cold, 
From greed or worldy gain, 

I seek these friends of old, 
To cheer my heart again. 





Page Fifty-Six 



THREE ROSES 



'Twas in the month of June, 
Out by the morning road, 

Where birds were all in tune 
And laughing waters flowed, 

Three sister roses grew 

Adorned with pearls of dew. 

They swung there, all aglow, 
Touched by the morning sun, 

"White as the winter snow. 
But ere the day was done 

No roses were in sight. 

They all had vanished quite. 

Upon a mother's grave. 
Beneath a willow tree. 

Whose weeping branches wave 
And moan unceasingly. 

One snow-white rose was laid 

By hand of sad-eyed maid. 

Another found its way 

Into a dusky room. 
Where on a pillow lay, 

Within the silent gloom, 
A mother's darling child. 
With fever raging wild. 




Page Fifty-Seoen 



Upon a harlot's breast, 
To catch the lustful eye, 

Another found its rest, 
Where revelry holds high. 

And dim lights yellow shine 

On cheeks red- tinged with wine. 





Page Fifty-Eight 



FAR FROM THE CITY 



Northward from the busy places 

Where the crowds go surging on, 
Stretch wide, green, inviting spaces 

To the woodlands halycon. 
There the shade is sweet and restful 

'Neath some leafy spreading tree 
That bends low to give a greeting 

That's all kind, to you and me. 

There the wind so lightly passes. 

With all fragrant odors rife, 
Creeping through the slender grasses, 

Singing of a tranquil life. 
Witching sunbeams play with roses 

And the shadows 'neath the trees. 
Nature's god serene reposes. 

Mid these scenes of quiet ease. 

Evermore the waves are lapping, 

All along the peaceful shore. 
And the busy birds are tapping 

At the old dead sycamore. 
Little throats are madly singing 

Melodies the whole long day. 
Trailing vines are climbing, clinging 

To the trees in flowery spray. 




Page Fifty-Nine 



This the place for nature-lovers, 

Others wander blindly by, 
Little guess that round them hovers 

Blessings that can never die, 
Theirs to have when work and worry, 

Drives them to this beauty spot. 
Where no greed, or strife, or hurry 

Holds its own, with God forgot. 





Page Sixty 



THE WOODS 



I love the woods, the grand old woods, 

The temples built with God's own 
hands, 
The whisp'ring leaves, the nodding boughs 

The murm'ring brook with shifting 
sands, 
The moaning winds through leafy trees, 

Which seem far as the surf and foam, 
The strange and ghostly deep retreats, 

Old as the world and sweet as dawn. 

I love the woods, the wide wild woods, 

Where oak and poplar side by side, 
Where bittersweet and twisting vine 

Twine round and high to tree-tops wide, 
Where squirrels swing from limb to limb 

And hurry to the verdant dome. 
Where dwell the fox and sleepy owl, 

Where screaming jaybirds make their 
home. 

I sit beneath those greenwood trees, 

And watch the shadows come and go, 
I deeper in the forest tread 

Among the stately trees, and lo! 
Behold, long shady aisles I see. 

And halls with frescoed ceiling high; 
Then through the canopy o'erhead 

I catch a glint of azure sky. 




Page Sixty-One 



I rove along the rustic path, 

Made by the Indians ages gone, 
Which follows where their fancy led, 

Down by the lake and then along 
The hills, across the babbling brook. 

Through hazel bushes here and there, 
Around the rocks, among the trees, 

And ending I can not tell where. 

The ancient oak stands proud and high, 

A monarch of the timber-land; 
The red man's moccasin of old 

Has made this trail I understand; 
The White man's footsteps followed on; 

But these are as the dust they trod, 
But still the mighty oak bides on. 

Bears witness of a living God. 





Page Sixty-Two 



THE BOY WHO ONCE WAS I 



While coming up the way 
Along the steep incline, 

My winding pathway lay 
By sturdy oak and pine. 

A leaf brushed 'gainst my cheek, 

A resting place 'twould seek. 

Its magic touch and breath 
Brought visions to my mind 

Of youth and age and death. 
And all that lies behind. 

Dim in the distance lay 

The vale of Yesterday. 

A lad was there at play 
Near by the rippling rill, 

Where golden sunlight lay 
Serene upon the hill. 

The lad, the sky, the stream 

Seemed all one lovely dream. 

The boy looked up at me 
With eyes of wonderment. 

Light-hearted, fancy-free. 
He surely seemed content 

To spend the happy hours 

Among the birds and flowers. 




Page Sixty-Three 



Nearby I saw a road 

That seemed to lead below. 
With eager steps I strode 

To reach that Long-ago. 
I thought to meet that boy 
And taste once more his joy. 

The gate was closed, Alas! 

The gateman, old and gray, 
Then said that I must pass 

Along the other way. 
My pleadings were in vain, 
Said he, "No, ne'er again." 

Then on again I strode, 
Far up the steep incline. 

Along the heavy road. 
Beyond the oak and pine. 

I waved a sad "Goodbye," 

To the lad who once was I. 





Page Sixty-Four 



VALEDICTION 



The Indian wandered up the hill 
And sat beneath the singing pine, 

Near by the foaming, rushing rill. 
The way his feet were wont to climb; 

He sought the place where rests in peace 

His faithful mate, beneath the trees. 

Beneath the pines the needles spread 
A golden carpet, smooth and fine, 

A verdant roof they wove o'erhead; 
Clambered the moss and wild woodbine 

Over the mound and boulders near. 

Within the rude enclosure drear. 

The passing winds made low, sad moan 
And swayed the branches of the pine, 

A mournful dirge, in plaintive tone; 
The Indian listening, sat supine. 

He dreamed of forests far away, 

Of his lost love beneath the clay. 

He saw away beyond the bridge 
And looking far as eye can see. 

Low, rolling hills, ridge touching ridge, 
Like billows of some restless sea. 

Lost in the dim and distant blue 

With secrets hidden no man knew. 




Page Sixty-Five 



His lone, sad heart was stirred within 
By reaches vast of forest old, 

By shifting light and shadows dim, 
And patches fair of green and gold; 

By cloud-ships calmly sailing by 

To unknown ports beyond the sky. 

He rose and drew close to the mound, 
And sadly scanned the forest o'er — 

For many years his hunting ground — 
Then disappeared forevermore. 

All others of his tribe had gone. 

Sedate he left to follow on. 





Page Sixty-Six 



WHEN LEAVES LIE LOW 



O hark! I hear a voice so clear, 
That bids me seek the woods, 

Where dead leaves lie and sad winds sigh 
Through lonely solitudes. 

A sun-flecked ridge, a rustic bridge, 

A path that leads me far 
Along the brook, by shady nook, 

Where tangled thickets are. 

The placid stream, just like a dream, 

Flows gently now along 
Its winding way, by night and day, 

And sings its own sweet song. 

Upon the brink I stand and think 

How like the river's flow 
Time bears us on, that soon we're gone 

Where all the world must go. 

How quiet now each bush and bough. 
Where once was life and song. 

How sad they seem, the wood and stream, 
Where birds sang aU day long. 




Page Sixty-Seoen 



The leaves let go their hold, then O 
How gently down they glide! 

The red and gold all turned to mould, 
When scattered far and wide. 

How calm they go to graves below, 
With millions gone before; 

A few more days and Autumn ways 
Will close the mystic door. 







Page Sixty-Eight 



A DREAM AT TWILIGHT 



'Tis evening now, the day is done, 

A breeze floats lightly by. 
The setting sun, whose course is run, 

Now richly paints the sky. 
We're dreaming of the sunset West, 

Far from the busy throng. 
Again we see the mountain's crest 

Where twilight lingers long. 

The sky is blue, the plains are wide, 

The wind is flowing free, 
We're out to seek the joys that hide 

Beyond the wide prairie. 
We're weary of the rolling plain, 

The rivers flow too slow. 
We're out to seek the hills again. 

Where rushing torrents flow. 

Our eager eyes look to the height. 

Where bald peaks upward rise 
And eagles wing their steady flight 

When fading daylight dies. 
We see the downward rushing streams 

Of waters crystal clear, 
Where cascades leap and Nature dreams 

Beneath the pine trees near. 




Pane Sixty-Nine 



We climb where many a boulder cleaves 

And peace flows like the wind, 
Where cares fall off like Autumn leaves 

And gloom is left behind; 
Where spectral shadows play at will, 

From dawn till close of day, 
And echoes float from hill to hill 

Then faintly die away. 

We sit upon the rocks near by 

And watch the waters gleam. 
We hear the gentle breezes sigh 

Through stately pines, then dream 
Of other mountains far away. 

Beyond our vision keen. 
Where torrents flow and shadows play 

Beneath the evergreen. 




Page Seoenty 



INDIAN SUMMER 



The halcyon days are past and gone, 
The Indian Summer sun hangs low, 

The golden Autumn days have come, 
A crimson warms the afterglow. 

The shocks of corn like wigwams stand 
In dusky rows across the way, 

Their banners flowing to the wind, 
A sad farewell they seem to say. 

The trees have cast their last leaves down, 
To shield the flowers at their feet, 

Have bared their naked breasts and arms 
To battle with the winds and sleet. 

The thistledown floats lightly by, 
Like feathers from a flock of geese. 

That sail serene on Southern seas 

Where wintry winds can hold no lease. 

The sky bends low to meet the dew. 
The mist clouds rise to meet the sun. 

O'er vaUeys hangs the hazy blue 

When Indian Summer days have come. 




Page Seoenty-One 



Like gossamer spun the myriad lines 
That lazily float the azure through 

Weaving the shrouds for the dying year, 
From limpid lights of rainbow hue. 

And unseen hands fling wide the doors, 
And bid me enter, to rest at ease. 

Sailing, sailing supinely on. 

Would all the days were days like these! 





Page Seventy-Two 




I visioned the wonderous sight 
Of a city with pinnacles high. 



I WANT TO GO BACK 



E'en yesterday wandered I through 

The wood, 'neath the evergreen trees, 
Where mingled the pine and the yew 

To sing and to sigh in the breeze; 
I saw the swift river rush by 

On its way to the far distant sea, 
I watched the birds heavenward fly, 

And dreamed of the days yet to be. 

I visioned the wonderous sight 

Of a city with pinnacles high, 
I saw in the glimmering light 

Where thousands of people went by; 
'Twas the sedulous mart of the world. 

The tide of humanity's stream; 
I saw a great future unfurled 

To me like a wonderful dream. 

I followed my phantom and came 

Where the stream of humanity flows; 
I came to seek riches and fame, 

But knew naught of sorrow and woes; 
Where millions are made in a day, 

By those who are "playing the game," 
Casting true joys away. 

To harvest that bubble — a name. 




Page Seoeniy-Three 



But I'm weary of toil and care, 

Of the city's grime and its dust 
That's forever filling the air, 

I shrink from its greed and its lust; 
From the slums of the city's dark ways, 

Where illness meets sorrow and pain, 
And I shudder at human affrays, 

I'd give worlds to go back again! 



I'm turning once more to the blue, 

And I'm longing again for the sigh 
Of the wind through the pine and the yew, 

Where mountains to heaven heave high; 
I'm yearning again to retreat 

To a peaceful greenwood that I know, 
Far away from the throng of the street; 

It's calling me — O let me go! 




Page Seoenty-Four 



ETERNAL PEACE 



When "whispering winds at dewy eve 

Came creeping down the dusky way, 
And breath of June was on the air, 
\ ^The world serene and peaceful lay 
Beneath the Summer sun or clouds; 

Far-spreading fields of waving grain 
Shone brightly in the morning dew 
Or nodded in the sun and rain. 

The peaceful river silent crept 

Adown the valley, through the plain, 
By castles old and lowly huts, 

Until it reached the restless main 
Where great white fleets at anchor lay 

Like sleeping swans upon the sea; 
Rocked by the billows of the deep. 

They rose and fell unceasingly. 

From ancient towers the deep-toned bells 

Rang vesper psalms when day was done, 
And shadows slowly eastward crept. 

As stars awakened one by one; 
Along the busy, crowded streets 

A multitude of toilers went 
Their quiet way, no thought had they 

Of aught but plenty and content. 




Page Seaerdy-Five 



But direful change now marks the place. 

The golden fields of waving grain 
By mighty armies have been mown 

Until the're all one bloody plain; 
The morning sun is greeted now 

By clouds of battle smoke and shell, 
The deaf'ning roar of heavy guns 

Again repeats that "War is Hell!" 

The ancient towers now ruined stand 

In silhouette against the sky, 
And spectral shadows linger near 

Where torn and ghastly corpses lie; 
The waves of grief like mountains roll. 

And storms of trouble fiercely beat 
Against despairing human souls 

That know not whither to retreat. 

O bird of peace, come back again, 

From out thy secret hiding place. 
Dispell the storm and darksome might. 

Come messenger of peace and grace! 
O banish far the god of war. 

And spread thy broad wings over all 
This wide, wide world, from sea to sea, 

Until we hear the Master's call. 




Page Seventy-Six 



WHEN AUTUMN CALLS 



The voice of Autumn is calling me, 
I hear it whisper far and near, 

The brook, the birds and crimsoning tree 
All are beckoning, "Come and see!" 

The golden rod upon the hill 

Flaunts her plumes in the morning 
breeze. 
The bees are seeking their honeyed fill 
Ere Winter files his long, hard lease. 

The flaming sumach decks the hill, 
Like tapestry the crisp brown grass, 

And sings in minor note the rill 
Beneath the crimson sassafras. 

The spring winds gave these vernal birth, 
The frost their glory did bestow. 

The chilling winds have stilled their mirth, 
Soon all will sleep beneath the snow. 

The deadened branches criss-cross lie. 
Entwined with many a twist and crook. 

Brambles and briars, rank and high. 
Grow 'long the edge of winding brook. 




Page Seoenty-Seoen 



The thistledown is drifting low, 
Sowing its seed for another year, 

Floating like fleecy flakes of snow 
Over the meadows brown and sear. 

Suddenly starts the whirring quail, 
Swiftly she flies beyond the hill, 

Out leaps a frightened cotton-tail. 
Then hides beneath the ruined mill. 

man of wealth, you have your gold. 
Your mansions vast with gilded halls, 

But give to me the wood and wold. 
That I may harken when Autumn calls! 





Page Seoenty-Eight 



THE RIVER 



From a crevice in the mountain 
Bubbles forth a little fountain, 

Pure and clean. 
Down the hillside lightly tripping, 
'Neath the willows softly slipping, 

Quite unseen, 
Quick it hurries over pebbles. 
Sings in minors and in trebles. 

Through the shadow and the sheen. 

Then between the banks so narrow, 
Speeding forward like an arrow 

From a bow; 
Faster flowing, louder splashing, 
Fiercer, wilder, downward dashing 

It will go. 
Rushing round the rocks projecting, 
To the right and left deflecting; 

So the wilder waters flow. 

Then again more slowly flowing, 
Like a mirror shadows showing 

Of the trees, 
In the water brightly gleaming. 
Like inverted forest seeming, 

Roguish breeze 
To the trembling leaves is telling 
Of the wonders far down dwelling, 

Where the river flows at ease. 




Page Seoenty-Nine 



Deep within its bosom hidden 
Tragic secrets never written 

On a scroll, 
Float adown the silent river, 
Known by only God, the Giver 

Of the soul, 
He who guides the river's bending 
From its source to final ending 

At the sea where billows roll. 



When the sun is low descending 
And my life is near its ending 

May it be 
Like the river's tranquil flowing 
On its last stretch homeward going 

To the sea; 
Calmly, gently drifting, drifting, 
'Till the mystic shadows lifting 

Show to me Eternity. 



m 



t 




Page Eighty 



TIME'S PRISONER 



Time bade me step within the door, 

To search the realms of mystery; 
But, turning back, I stand before 

The portals of past history. 
I try the door, it will not give, 

I rap, I beg, but soon I learn 
That I am but a fugitive. 

And never more I may return. 

Across the narrow hall I see 

Another door, Futurity, 
This side of that which is to be; 

I hurry there, but woe is me, 
'Tis but another bolted door; 

I loudly knock, there's no reply, 
Grim silence only, nothing more. 

My anxious fears intensify. 

With trembling hope I venture near 

A window where the light steals through, 
But find I cannot pass out here, 

Since Father Time has barred this, too. 
Between the bars I look and see 

The Deathless Past go speeding on. 
Until beyond dim memory 

'Tis lost in dark oblivion. 




Page Eighty-One 



There's no retreat, my sad heart learns, 

All is a vision that has been, 
My soul for fuller knowledge yearns, 

But I may never enter in. 
I'm locked within these unseen walls. 

The Past is only history, 
I ask the Future, silence falls. 

The Present has imprisoned me! 




Page Eighiy-Tu)o 



NOVEMBER DAYS 



From the city I wander 
To the naked woods yonder, 
Then down by the river 
Where willow wands quiver, 
I dreamily ponder. 

Far away is the swallow, 
Soon flowers will follow, 
The woods are all quiet. 
No birds there in riot, 
On hill or in hollow. 

The green is now fading. 
And dull is the shading. 
The Fall winds are lazy. 
And landscapes are hazy. 
While Winter is waiting. 

The hillside is blue in 
The distance, the ruin 
Of Summer is passing. 
And leaves are amassing 
In forest they grew in. 

I hear the Days saying: 
"We can not be staying. 
The year is fast going, 
And soon 'twill be snowing 

Where now we are straying.' 




Page Eighty-Three 



SUNSET BEYOND THE LAKE 



A picturesque log cabin stands 

Vine-clad, upon the beach, 
A panoramic view commands 

A wide extending reach; 
To southward, dim blue distances, 

To westward, lies the lake. 
Far northward hills of dreaminess 

Rise upward from the lake. 

A few cloud islands floating high, 
Rose-hued and rimmed with gold, 

A heron slowly drifting by- 
Out near the western wold. 

From bending reed a blackbird's cry 
Comes floating down the air. 

Borne on a whisper breeze, a sigh 
From some Elysian fair. 

Rapt glory of the sunset skies, 

Out by the western gate, 
When fading daylight softly dies 

And shadows silent wait! 
Along the shore the glassy sheen 

Reflects the crimson glow. 
And visions of the trees are seen 

Suspended down below. 




Page Eighty-Four 



Before its final plunge the sun 

Has changed its disc of gold 
To one of rose, ere day is done ; 

Then twilight skies unfold 
A brilliant sunset curtain there, 

A painting seldom seen 
Save when Nature paints on air 

A gorgeous sunset scene. 

And thus the glorious sun goes down, 

While shadows silent creep 
Athwart the lake and hillside brown, 

'Till all the sunbeams sleep. 
The silver sickle of the moon 

Hangs low against the sky, 
Somewhere from out the dusk a loon 

Sends forth its weird cry. 

I watch the day-flush leave the sky, 

Ere night comes in its wake, 
I muse and sadly breathe a sigh. 

While darkness hides the lake. 
To passing day I say goodbye, 

While dimmer grows the light. 
And evening shuts the door and I 

Bid welcome to the night. 



(i^l 




Page Eighty-Five 



THE CONFLICT 



Will the dreary rain ne'er cease, 
The raging torrent be at peace, 
A staying hand the shadow lift 
Revealing heaven through the rift? 

Just yesternight the stars looked down 
Upon the peaceful, happy town. 
The lights shone forth from ev'ry side 
Upon the flood of human tide. 

The river, peaceful, flowed along 
Beneath the bridge and busy throng, 
In easy curves it onward rolled. 
While chime of bells the hour told. 

The moonbeams danced upon the stream, 
Like visions of a happy dream, 
A benediction seemed they like 
Upon the homes beyond the dyke. 

Today the swiftly flowing tide 
Against man's work its power tried, 
It hurled itself with awful might, 
Both rain and river made their fight. 

Terrific, wild, the battle raged, 
'Tween man and roaring waters staged, 
Fiercer and stronger came the tide. 
Bushing o'er ramparts far and wide. 




Pttge Eighty-Six 



The victors carried death and gloom, 
Helpless victims hurled to doom, 
No power of human hand could stay 
The elements engaged in fray. 

A winding sheet they made of snow. 
And spread it o'er the fields below. 
Then darkness came upon the wave, 
And all was silent as the grave. 





Page Eighty-Seoen 



MY FRIEND 



As a boy, when turning the sod, 
Or hoeing the corn and the cane, 

I implicitly trusted in God, 
A personal God, and humane. 

Who'd lead me and show me the road, 

And help me to carry my load. 

Then later I banished Him quite. 
As a personal being like man, 

I banished Him out of my sight. 
Not knowing the univers'e plan. 

One morning I found Him again. 

Thereafter my friend to remain. 

That morning while roaming the street 
I came to the house of the Lord, 

And entered, expecting to meet 
His people in friendly accord; 

Dame Fashion was there in her pride, 

But I saw not the Lord at her side. 

From the Bible the minister read 
Of the future abode of the soul, 

Expounding his sermon he said: 
*'The pious man's ultimate goal 

Will be with the merciful God, 

But not till he's under the sod." 




Page Eighty-Eight 



The sound of sweet music I heard, 
From organ and orchestra there, 

But sweeter the voice of a bird 
Floated in from a tree-top so fair, 

Inviting me out to a world 

Where Nature her glories unfurled. 

From the temple I wandered alone 
To the brink of a river near by, 

And found there the friend of my own 
Free choosing, whom others passed by; 

Together we roamed over hills, 

Through meadows and by sparkling rills. 

Since then I have known Southern skies, 
Have looked on the blue rolling sea. 

Have watched o'er the plains the sunrise, 
And have learned of strange wonders 
that be, 

I have sounded the depths of life's deep, 

I have climbed pathways rugged and steep. 

But never alone have I gone, 

'Long pathway all dark or all fair, 

Nor missed I the light of the morn. 

For my true friend has ever been there. 

Through sunshine and shadow we two 

To each other have ever been true. 




Page Eighty-Nine 



Our house of devotion? The woods, 
The carolling birds for a choir, 

Thus roaming the sweet solitudes 
The heart found its fondest desire. 

And peace was at home where we trod, 

My friend and companion was God. 





Page Ninety 



WHEN THE SUN GOES DOWN 



A path of liquid gold leads far 

Across the lake to where 
The water meets the sandy bar; 

Upon the evening air 
Sweet odors come across the bay, 

I idly musing stand 
And watch the passing of the day 

Beyond the sunset land. 

Among the rushes near an old 

Canoe lies on its side, 
Black water beetles manifold 

Around the ruins glide. 
Upon a bending willow wand 

A red-winged blackbird swings, 
The swallows dip and fly beyond 

The lake, on buoyant wings. 

A swell comes gently by the boat 

And writes upon the sand, 
Erasing first what others wrote 

Upon the shelving strand; 
And oh, what memories it brings 

Of days that are no more, 
Of sunny hillsides, flowin>g springs. 

And waves that lapped the shore! 




Page Nindy-One 



I hear the dip of oars and swish 

Of waves against the boat, 
And standing there I longing wish 

That I again might float 
Upon the dreamy waves of youth, 

When all the world was fair, 
And I knew only golden truth. 

And naught of worldly care. 

A heron rises from the brake. 

Quite near to where I stand; 
My vision's gone, I'm wide awake! 

Around me lies the sand. 
The golden path across the lake 

Is gone, has vanished quite, 
My weary way I homeward take, 

As slowly fades the light. 





Page Ninety-Two 




The Surf 



SONG OF THE SEA 



Surf of the sea 

You sing to me 

Of wild winds going by 

Where lonely islands lie, 

Rock-ribbed and bleak 

From shore to peak. 

O, sing to me 

A melody 

Of where the winds are mild 

And oft the sunshine smiled 

Upon the hills 

And rushing rills. 

Let airs arise 

With sweet surprise, 

And float far up the hill. 

Through singing pines until 

Your echoes seem 

A dream, sweet dream. 

Some early dawn 
When I pass on 
Beyond the sunset sea. 
Sing softly then to me. 
Of life and light 
Beyond the night. 




Page Ninety-Three 



LIFE 



Like Autumn leaves we're cast upon 
The passing stream of years, 

Which flows forever on and on, 
And ends in vaie of tears. 

Serene we drift through eddies smooth, 

Along the sunny shore 
Of childhood and of happy youth. 

As millions have before. 

We glide into the broader stream 

Of joy and hope and love, 
Whose hazy shores seem like a dream, 

Where blue skies bend above. 

We pass into the swirling tide 

Of selfishness and gain, 
Where seething waters swiftly glide 

Out toward the restless main. 

Now on the billows of success 

Triumphantly we ride, 
Then down we plunge to worldliness. 

Where vales of sorrow hide. 




Page Ninety-Four 



Beyond this world again we drift, 

To ne'er again return, 
The veil between will never lift. 

No more life's spark will burn. 

Unseen our spirits upward rise. 
Like mists above the wave. 

The human soul that never dies. 
Goes not down to the grave. 





Page Ninety-Fiue 



NIGHT IN THE WOOD 



Oft comes a call 

At night from the wood 
Bidding me come 

To its deep solitude. 

Moonbeams are kind, 

Leading me on, 
Deep in the dark, 

Then they are gone. 

Strange shadows there 

By the old log, 
Firefly lamps 

Lighting the bog. 

The hoot of an owl, 

Calling its mate 
Out of the wild, 

Sounds desolate. 

Night and the wood 

Are kind to me, 
They are so still. 

So pure and free. 




Page Ninety-Six 



MY DESIRE 



I never loved the streets, 

With walls up-looming, 
Nor somberness that greets 

Me in the glooming. 

I love the arch of blue 

Above me blending, 
The green, the wide world through. 

That's never ending. 

I want the wooded glade. 

By hill or mountain. 
The cool refreshing shade 

Down by the fountain. 

I want to climb the hills, 

To do my rhyming, 
Up where my vision thrills 

Me for my climbing. 

O, let the sunlight through 
The blue, wide spreading, 

To kiss the morning dew 
Where I am treading. 




Page Nindy-Seoen 



I'll take my way along 
A path of flowers 

And listen to the song 
Of birds for hours. 

I want to roam until 
I reach life's closing, 

And then upon some hill 
To be reposing. 




Page Ninety-Eight 



THE CHRYSALIS 



Abiding in the shades of night 

Within a sealed and silent tomb, 
Where ne'er a ray of welcome light 

Steals in to drive away the gloom, 
Within this suiiless chamber dark 

There sleeps a lifeless, listless thing, 
It wears no sign of beauty's mark. 

But there life's germ is smouldering, 
Awaiting vernal Spring, 
For its awakening, 
When it will fly 
In yon blue sky, 

On light and airy wing. 

All powers of darkness can not stay 

Its coming at the call of Spring, 
'Twill burst its tomb, from lifeless clay 

'Twill wake to birth with gaudy wing; 
A thing of beauty, glad and free, 

'Twill sail above the velvet lawn, 
A floating flower of revelry 

As lovely as the morning's dawn, 
On light wing debonair, 
'Twill wander here and there. 
Like mystic dreams 
Its beauty seems, 

When floating in the air. 




Page Ninety-Nine 



Then over garden, through the hedge, 

Into the meadow, down the vale, 
Among wild roses, over sedge. 

Through spreading treetops it will sail, 
Nor pause to rest but seek the sun, 

As meant for naught but light and air, 
Its course in ardent rapture run. 

With all the world a garden fair; 
We watch its roving flight 
To dim and dizzying height, 
And higher yet to go. 
And fainter grow 

Until 'tis lost to sight. 




Page One Hundred 



ON NEW YEAR'S EVE 



The dusky shadows of the night 

Are settling over town, 
A random snowflake in its flight 

Comes drifting slowly down; 
Then many more come floating by, 

On light and airy wing 
From out the gloomy, sunless sky, 

On winds scarce whispering. 

Large and fluffy flakes they are. 

That look like swarming bees 
As they come falling from afar. 

To street and roof and trees. 
A shroud they weave the dying year, 

Then spread it on with pride, 
And wrap the world, both far and near. 

Its gloominess to hide. 

The year is slipping fast away. 

The midnight hour is near, 
When those who love draw close and say, 

"Here comes another year!" 
The old year's gone, forever gone, 

'Tis midnight now, and clear 
The stars of heaven look down upon 

The joyous, glad New Year. 




Page One Hundred One 



I LOVE THE TRAIL 



I love the trail, the quiet trail, 

That leads me far, and true, 
To silent, dusky twilight vale, 

'Mongst hillside scenes anew. 
Where Nature charms and cradles me 

To dreaming of the days 
When roads were only trails and we 

Light-hearted were always. 

The trial that leads me by the stream 

Where bending boughs bend low, 
Reflecting in the water's gleam 

Their shadows down below. 
Thence upward winds to eminence. 

To where my view commands 
A broad expanse, a sight immense, 

Way out to shadow lands. 

More wealth have I than greedy men 

Who strive for gold and gain, 
God's mine of wea;lth I seek, for then 

I'll never seek in vain. 
The air is mine, the birds are mine. 

Their songs are given me; 
So are the clouds and bright sunshine, 

No matter where I be. 




Page One Hundred Two 



I love the trail, the lonely trail 

That leads me on again 
Beyond the haunts of men who rail 

About their worldly gain. 
Give me instead the winding ways 

Where sun and shadows fall 
Along my pathway, all my days; 

I count this wealth 'bove all! 




Page One Hundred Three 



THE VANISHING RACE 



A solemn silence reigned supreme 

O'er all the continent, 
Except the lilting of a stream, 

Or call of bird that sent 
Its note along the forest aisle. 

Or music of the breeze 
When touching vibrant chords awhile 

Among the leafy trees. 

Unnumbered geese their harrow drew 

Above the western plain. 
Where rank and high the grasses grew, 

Nursed by the sun and rain; 
Like hurricane the bisons swept 

Across the prairies lone. 
Then all again in silence slept 

Where dim the moonlight shone. 

God-silenced peaks rose to the sun, 

Capped by eternal snow, 
When twilight fell and day was done 

The rushing river's flow 
Made music where the rocks were rent 

Asunder ages gone, 
And roaring waters turbulent 

Forever hurried on. 




Page One Hundred Four 



H> 


D- 




» 


*■ 




n 


fft 


p 


g 


«iS 


3 


JS 


^ 


P? 


p 


3 


1— 


O- 


o- 


n 




^■ 


S 


It) 






3 


^ 








s 




OQ 




The smoke of council fires rose 

Above the ancient trees, 
The Indian wandered where he chose, 

No red man held his lease 
Upon this wide, wide continent, 

'Twas all the red man's land, 
Prom rushing rivers turbulent 

Down to the ocean sand. 

When rose the mist one early dawn, 

Down by the southern sea, 
Three ships at anchor lay upon 

The swells, triumphantly. 
They to the Indian visions seemed, 

As there they rose and fell 
Upon the waves, he never dreamed 

That they would sound his knell. 

From o'er the sea the white man came, 

With scant regard for right, 
He came in search of wealth and fame, 

His only law was might. 
He swiftly swept the forests down. 

For avarice and gain. 
Up sprang the gleaming lights of town. 

And waving fields of grain. 




Page One Hundred Fioe 



And ever toward the west they strode, 

The red man and the white, 
Along the dark and bloody road 

That led to many a fight. 
The white man followed fast upon 

The campfires of the red, 
Whose dying embers lit the dawn 

For progress' mighty tread. 

The highways blended with the trail, 

Across the western plains. 
Then soon along the shining rails 

Came rushing mighty trains; 
Great iron steeds went shrieking by, 

Out to the Golden Gate, 
Where on the crimson sunset sky 

Was writ the red man's fate. 

He's fading like the morning mist 

Before the Summer sun, 
'Tis hopeless for him to resist 

The white man's brain and gun; 
Forever driven from place to place, 

On to the western shore, 
A weary, wandering, dying race 

That soon will be no more. 




Page One Hundred Six 



NOCTURNE 



The river is lapping the sand 

By the shelving shore, 

Near a path that's leading me on 

Through shadowy ways ; 

The sough of the wind I hear 

Like the far away sea. 

The dome of heaven is hung 

With lanterns of stars 

That sparkle and twinkle up there 

In the deep blue void. 

The hoot of an owl I hear 

Far off to the south; 

All else is silence and awe, 

Save the bay of a hound 

That howls at the face of the moon 

That's watching me from 

The silvery hills of a cloud. 

There, away to the east. 

Solemn and vast lies before me 

The slumbering world. 




Page One Hundred Seven 



BY FANCY PAINTED 



I'm in my hut alone tonight 
Where all is dark, except the light 
That steals in through the half -closed door, 
Where moonbeams fall upon the floor. 
My eyes see not and yet I see 
A landscape most appealingly. 
Upon a hill not high, not far, 
The singing pines about me are; 
To east it slopes, to vale below, 
Where deeper shadows come and go; 
Then farther down the foothills be 
That heave like billows of the sea, 
Until they meet the bending sky 
Far out where lonely prairies lie. 
A stream comes to my view and then 
Is lost, but found to lose again. 
The pensive beauty of those hills 
Enthralls me with a joy that fills 
My very soul with rapture sweet, 
Thus making life seem more complete. 
To westward, toward the sunset sky, 
Imposing peaks point heaven high. 



I— — I 




Page One Hundred Eight 



I stand and gaze up at the height 
Where snowy crests gleam on my sight; 
A gorgeous painting I behold, 
There by the sunset gates of gold! 
There is an air about those heights 
That charms my inner self and lights 
The chambers of my weary soul 
To seeking hence a higher goal. 
My mood of exultation thrills 
My purer, inner self and fills 
My mind with thoughts without alloy. 
And all the seriousness of joy. 
I want to think, to freely breathe 
The inspiration there beneath 
Those noble peaks that kiss the sky 
Where sunset's splendor's loath to die. 
I want to dream, to be alone, 
Where Silence speaks in undertone. 
I gaze on forest depths below, 
Then up to where the heavens glow, 
I view the hazy, solemn heights 
While passing day in glory lights 
The splendor of the mountain tops. 

A light tap at my cabin door. 

The won'drous landscape is no more! 




Page One Hundred Nine 



THE PASSING OF WINTER 



There is a sound beneath the ground 
Where sleep the lowly flowers, 

They feel the rays of sunny days 
Or hear the welcome showers 

That come to call them, one and all, 
To crown this world of ours. 

Each day the sun his course will run 

Across the heavens higher. 
And drive the cold from out the wold 

As Spring is drawing nigher. 
Chill days must go, and this we know, 

When Winter winds retire. 

Some early dawn will burst upon 
My sight a wond'rous glory 

Of bird on wing and winds that bring 
Death to old Winter hoary. 

Then up the stream like golden gleam 
Will swiftly dart the dory. 

The joys of earth will spring to birth 

On hillside and in hollow, 
I think of then how down the glen 

Will swiftly sweep the swallow. 
And how I long for wood and song, 

Those brighter days to follow! 




Page One Hundred Ten 



WHEN TWILIGHT COMES 



When twilight gathers on the hills, 

Descends upon the quiet woods, 
Dark vistas of the forest gloom 

Are peopled then with phantom moods. 
The daylight fades and shadows creep, 

The stars come out, the moon rides by, 
They tell of darkness deeper still, 

While o'er the leaves the night-winds 
sigh. 

From forest depths and mountain side 

Come myriad voices of the night 
To softly blend with evening hymn 

That floats to nearby dusky height. 
Clear above these low-breathed tones 

Comes plaintive call of whip-poor-will. 
The bats like ghostly spirits flit 

Among the trees on yonder hill. 

Gone are the brook and forest aisles, 
The woodland music, leaf and bird, 
Close in a city my heart yearns 
- For Nature's voices once oft heard, 
To roam once more in forest shade. 

Far from the turmoil to abide. 
To sleep at last by river's brink, 

Or 'neath the trees on loved hillside. 




Page One Hundred Eleoen 



DAYS OF YOUTH 



Days of Youth, O Days of Youth, 
Long since you have passed by, 

1 dream of you by day and night, 
And breathe for you a sigh, 

For drifting far you are more dear 

As shining stars on high 
More radiant seem though far away, 

More treasured than if nigh. 

O Days of Youth, bright days of Youth, 

I long for you tonight, 
Come back to me from the dim past, 

Turn back, O stop your flight; 
Bring back those care-free happy hours, 

Green fields and babbling brook, 
And all the other priceless joys 

With dreaming days you took. 

Days of Youth, past Days of Youth, 
When memory bids me look 

1 see the hills and meadows green 

Beyond where runs the brook; 
The trees glassed in its tranquil flow, 

And still beyond, the lake. 
Where dips and curves the graceful swift, 

And ducks glide midst the brake. 




Page One Hundred Twelve 



O Days of Youth, glad Days of Youth, 

There are no flowers now 
That bloom as fair as they did then; 

In orchard every bough 
Gave forth rare perfume not found since, 

A myriad flowers then 
Spread o'er the woodland, hill and field, 

Made Paradise of fen. 

O Days of Youth, blithe Days of Youth, 

I hear, or seem to hear 
The cricket and the katydid 

In shady thicket near; 
No music now is half so sweet 

As this, and song of bird. 
Before you left and took with you 

The sweetest music heard. 

O Days of Youth, flown Days of Youth, 

They're gone, forever gone! 
They heeded not my plaintive call, 

But drifted calmly on 
Like shadows of a lovely dream 

I never more shall see. 
Except in dreamy visions dim. 

Dead days so dear to me! 




Page One Hundred Thirteen 



AUTUMN 



O Autumn, bringing with you death 

And sadness — ^for all things must die! 
You lightly touch with magic breath 

The fields, the woods and pathless sky; 
The maple trees are burning bright, 

The poplars wear a crown of gold, 
A whisper wind comes very light 

And bids the leaves let go their hold. 

O twilight of the dying year. 

When golden dreams again set sail 
From out the tremulous atmosphere. 

And languor's fine-spun velvet veil 
Lifts to reveal a heavenly bower. 

When lonely silence fills the wood. 
With here and there an exile flower 

Where once a thousand comrades stood. 

No longer sing the merry birds 

From leafy bough and tangled brake, 
The breeze is writing liquid words 

Upon the surface of the lake 
That in the writing quickly sink 

Into the shadows of the deep, 
The passes onward toward the brink 

And bids the lilies "Go to sleep." 




Page One Hundred Fourteen 



O give me Autumn's pensive haze, 

When wakes again some olden dream, 
A golden thread through all the days, 

A song that's sung by lake and stream. 
O Autumn beautiful, sublime 

That I might thy companion be. 
While drifting down the stream of Time, 

Until I'd reach the endless sea! 





Page One Hundred Fifteen 



I DREAM OF YOU 



Deep azure eyes and auburn hair, 
A bosom like the lilies fair, 

Adorned with gleaming pearls, 
A heart divine and ever true, 
I dream of you, love, often do, 

When morn the day unfurls. 

When brambles bearing load of care 
Spring 'long my pathway everywhere, 

When threat'ning clouds hang low. 
When thoughtless hand blots out the blue, 
I dream of you, love, yes I do, 

When all seems dark below. 

As through this weary world I roam, 
Now near, now far away from home. 

Throughout the country wide. 
Or when I'm sailing on the blue, 
I dream of you, love, ever true. 

While drifting with the tide. 

When twilight fades and winds repose, 
And clouds are tinted like a rose. 

Comes sadness uncontrolled. 
And brings fond memories of you, 
I dream of you then, yes I do, 

A sunny dream all gold. 




Page One Hundred Sixteen 



SADLY I PONDER 



How sadly I ponder 
When gazing at yonder 
Rich forest leaves turning 
And flaming and burning 
The Autumn sky under. 

The wild wold is calling 
Me down where the falling 
Leaves rustle and scatter, 
I hear the birds chatter 
Where blue jays are calling. 

Now gone are the lilies, 
Way down where the rill is 
Asleep 'neath the ruin 
Of grassed, and blue in 
The distance the hill is. 

A mild breeze is blowing, 
Wihile thistles are sowing 
Their seed in the lowlands 
On guard every tree stands; 
How soon 'twill be snowing! 




Page One Hundred Seventeen 



PRAIRIE LANDS 



The glories of the plains of old, 
Like that of Ichabod are gone, 

Save in the far Northwest, we're told. 
Are miles of prairies stretching on. 

A land ne'er trod by hoof iron-shod. 
Nor touched by steel of plow or hoe; 

True prairie grass above the sod. 
Is waving ever to and fro. 

Within those grand old hills, away 
Beyond the dim horizon blue, 

Are dreams held of another day. 

When all the world was wild and new. 

When western heavens were aflame, 
And slowly went the red sun down, 

The bison by the thousands came, 

Like warriors bold, in black and brown. 

The frightened deer or antelope. 

With gray wolves fast upon their trail. 

Came rushing down the bracken slope, 
Through shadows dim and moonlight 
pale. 




Page One Hundred Eighteen 



In Spring was heard the rush of wings 
Of water-fowl, by marsh and bay, 

Like far and distant thundering 
Before a storm on Summer's day. 

The beaver built in creek or lake, 

The sly fox prowled along the shore, 

The prairie-hen rose from the brake, 
Those distant days that are no more. 

Eternal change, as years roll on, 
The bison, wolf and timid deer 

Have vanished, are forever gone. 
Far, far beyond those prairies sere. 

The ceaseless winds forever flow 
Across the dreamy landscape there. 

They wave the tall grass to and fro 
As though in search of treasurer rare. 

For many changeless miles they come 
Across the plains, with odors rare 

Of grasses, flowers and resin-gum, 
Then pass on to we know not where. 

The thought comes to us as we scan 
The land brave pioneers trod, 

"How insignificant is man. 

How absolute the might God!" 




Page One Hundred Nineteen 



WHEN LIFE IS DONE 



Low in the West 
The crimson sun 

Is passing now, 
The day is done. 

Oft have I watched 

The sunset die 
Beyond the hills 

As night drew nigh. 

How many more 
Years will it be, 

Before its course 
Has run for me? 

What will betide 

Twixt now and days 
When last I'll see 

Its dying rays? 

I do not care, 

I would not know 
I only would 

That I might go 

Serenly like 

The sinking sun, 
As I pass out 

When life is done. 




Page One Hundred Twenty 



Deacidified using the Bookkeeper f 
Neutralizing agent: IVIagnesium Oxi 
Treatment Date: Sept. 2009 

PreservationTechnolc 

A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESE 

111 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Township, PA 1606 



